When is Love TOO Much?

When is love too much that it suffocates us, traps us and takes the very breath out of our lungs. Head over heels in love; in syrup that clings to our hands, feet and words. Love depends on words to communicate, to feel, to emote any sort of emotion. Without it love wouldn't exist, it would be a dead thing. Without love would there be hate or just a neutral emotion; like a white noise that seamlessly cuts through the air. Then there's the types of love; sisterly, maternal, paternal, unrequited.
And then we have the love that catches a glance in the park; the sweet rosy cheeked girl who leans in to kiss the boy. She wins him every time with those lips, that are like a flower blossoming. She's in her ripe, her mature age to fathom love. To swim through that pool of syrup that clings to her like a newborn child. And yet, how does she do it? How does she navigate this weaving path that can only lead to ultimate destruction of both herself an of him. How can she do it? Why does she do it? Why does she trial herself with this persist, this desire to be loved and challenged by him. Is she chained down by the weight of expectation despite still rising up like an orchid. When does she hit this wall of penultimate self doubt, this chasm that is like a rock around her weak neck; sure to snap in two.
When does love ever stop being this battle, this mountain, this pool of syrup that is fought with determination. Surely we are only to loose against the tide. But those who succeed are rewarded with a mass of gratification and a long and prosperous life. In sickness and in health.
Love,
TSITR x